The Eleventh Dimension
by Azpidistra
Summary: General Relativity and Quantum Mechanics sleep in the same bed, but they never speak. (An AU fic, partially a companion to three separate series, characters borrowed from SC and MP)


Author's Notes: I swore I was done with this series, but after I caught an online broadcast of PBS Nova's "The Elegant Universe", that plan was shot out the window. This story is based on the theory of strings as it is described in that broadcast.  
  
In a way, this story is a companion to three separate series: the University Love/Reunion at the Hilo Village series (which belong to SouthernChickie, and is borrowed with her permission), the 'Phobia' series, and the 'Alternate' series (both of which are mine). While this story can (and probably should) be read on its own, only because it does differ from all three series, all those stories are still recommended. (ps—if you do read the other three stories of the alternate series, you might want to read the UL/Hilo and Rylan universes that SouthernChickie created.) The characters of Heather, Brandon and Alex belong to SouthernChickie. Asher Jacobs and Sam Clarke are mine. Richie belongs to cannon, as does Club Immortal. Technically, some of the dialogue between Richie and Heather (ok, majority of the dialogue) was taken directly from 'Reunion at the Hilo Village'. Hawaii belongs to the United States, but I think the volcanoes technically have first crack.  
  
This story is set in a scene from Chapter Five of 'Reunion at the Hilo Village'.  
  
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While general relativity consists of Einstein's finding of gravity, and space-time warp, quantum mechanics consists of electromagnetism, and the weak and strong bonds of the atoms. These four cannot be bound together, as the other three greatly overshadow gravity. (Gravity itself is actually a very weak force). The string theory is the theory that everything can be broke down to strings of energy, and that this energy is what will unite the four elements.  
  
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Sam Clarke shook his head in at the rather exuberant antics of his wife. "You know dearling," he drawled, "we're only just going food shopping. You've done this a thousand times before."  
  
"But never in Hawaii," she contradicted. "I'm excited about food shopping in Hawaii. Think about it, real Hawaiian pineapple, actually bought in Hawaii."  
  
A crooked, but an obviously amused smile quirked at the corners of Sam's mouth. "Hiding your nerves?"  
  
"Well, wouldn't you be, if you were about to see your father for the first time in eight years?"  
  
"It's not just that is it?"  
  
"No." The young woman drew out a breath of air, and she managed to push a few stray strawberry-blonde hairs from her eyes in the process. "It's not just that. It's that this is the first time I've seen him since... since the accident."  
  
"You'll do fine," Sam assured her. He reached quietly for her hand, and he laced his fingers through hers. "After all, your grandfather was a Watcher for a number of years. And, your father long suspected something before you contacted him."  
  
"That's only because you refused to stay away from my memorial service," she chided. "And, you took my sword back. I left that thing for a reason, you know."  
  
"You need it, dearling."  
  
"My mentor tried to kill me with that thing! Forgive me, if I don't want to fight with tainted memories."  
  
"Careful, my dear, your claws are showing again."  
  
"Good."  
  
Sam sighed. Sometimes, he felt more like a baby-sitter than a husband. Technically, he was only nine years older than his wife, but after the accident, in which she had died, and stopped again. So, while he aged, looking at least fifteen years older, she stayed the same, forever frozen at a youthful nineteen. Talk about robbing the cradle, he teased her. But he did love her. After she had died in the September eleventh plane crashes, flying from New York to California with her mother, and waking up amidst a tangle of metal in a Pennsylvanian field, she had run to Philadelphia. Or, she had hitchhiked there. She lived there for several months, working as a nanny for the Matthews family, before she criss- crossed her way back to California to finish her schooling. With a double major in sociology and computer science, she could have been destined for greatness, had her mentor not tried to kill her on the same day she had graduated. Not that she was going to go to her own graduation. By then she had already changed her name from Ashley Jacobson, and separated herself from all her old friends and old haunts. A graduation ceremony would have been too much too risk. Unsure where to go, she had run to him, the lawyer who had once defended her in a murder case, and also her ex- boyfriend. He had taken pity on her, and she had taken comfort of him, and something of their old relationship returned. He was both her Watcher and her husband, having married her six years ago.  
  
"So," he sighed, "you want pineapple. What else?"  
  
"Yellow cake mix, and eggs, and maraschino cherries," she grinned.  
  
Sam returned the smile. If nothing else, he did enjoy her pineapple upside- down cake. Hell, he would die for a piece of that, and he would die a happy man.  
  
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But strings alone do not simply unite the four elements. They explain parallel universes. Eventually, they explain time travel.  
  
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While, at the store, Heather and Richie meandered up and down the aisles tossing anything that looked appealing into the basket Richie was pushing. "It's really good to see you again," Richie said, jumping to get some double stuffed Oreos off the top shelf. "I've been wondering how you've been doing."  
  
"I've been doing really well, actually," she answered. "David and I..." she trailed off. "I really like the theater."  
  
"Cool." They started up the soup aisle. "How are your parents and Courtney?"  
  
"Their doing fine, considering. Courtney is about to graduate from Somo."  
  
Richie grinned. "That's awesome. Good for her. What's her major?"  
  
"History. She really likes Alex's job."  
  
"What? Does she know about...?"  
  
"No. But all she knows is Alex is a historian and gets to travel all over the world."  
  
"You don't think he's going to get her into the Watchers, do you?"  
  
"I don't know. Is it dangerous?"  
  
"Depends on what she'd be doing. Research isn't dangerous. Tailing someone may be depending on who she's assigned to."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Not all of us are good, Heather. Can you grab a couple boxes of those?" He pointed to the rare boxes of Matzos on the shelf. "We're just like you guys. Some good, some bad, some interesting, some boring. Being a field Watcher is like being an undercover cop. You never know who you're following and what may happen."  
  
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The world of quantum mechanics is chaotic' it is a world of mess, and havoc, especially compared to the smooth contours and peace of the general relativity world. But the world of quantum mechanics is also smaller, and based on the idea of probability. From every possible outcome, only one will happen, based on the possibility of the other possible outcomes.  
  
Quantum mechanics has wormholes.  
  
But while Einstein detailed wormholes as being rips in the space-time warp, he stated that wormholes couldn't be created, but that they must already be. That only through these wormholes can we manipulate time and space to travel through the possible dimensions.  
  
But even then, we are up against the other law, the law of every possibility stacked against every other possibility.  
  
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"Oh, hey, do we have any chicken breasts?" she asked. She pushed the cart through the aisles, scanning the shelves for what she needed. She looked imploringly at Sam, who bit his tongue to keep from laughing at her slightly goofy expression. He knew she meant it like that. "I'd thought you might make your blackened chicken."  
  
"Why me?"  
  
"Because you burn everything so much better than I do," she laughed. "Grab some broccoli florets, will you?" she tossed casually over her shoulder, as she moved forward for the jar of maraschino cherries.  
  
"Yeah, sure, try to butter me up," he feigned a pout, but he knew that she knew that he was smiling. He grabbed the broccoli, which he added to the other groceries, when he heard a conversation float from the other end of the produce section.  
  
"Being a field Watcher is like being an undercover cop. You never know who you're following and what may happen," the other shopper spoke.  
  
The young woman froze; she glanced quickly around, taking stock of the other store customers, and she felt as Sam instinctively draped an arm over his wife's shoulders. She looked at him puzzled. "I can take of myself," she mumbled. He was several inches taller than she was, and fit almost perfectly into the crook of his shoulder. "What's he saying?" she asked.  
  
"Mentioned Watchers."  
  
"Is he one?"  
  
"I don't know. I can't see who he is at this angle. This way," he steered her towards the potatoes, and he reached to grab a bag to add to the cart. He had already thought of grilling some potatoes to compliment the chicken, and he figured the bag would be a good cover for his spying. Spying may have been his job, in one form or another, but if this other guy knew of the Watchers, there would be no way of telling if he was also one, or he knew how they operated.  
  
"Is it dangerous for Alex to follow you?" But this was a second speaker, a woman, and she looked like she would be his age, if maybe not only a couple years younger.  
  
The first speaker, a young man, snorted as he picked through the tomatoes. "Yeah, right. My life is totally boring. I wake up, run, go to school, go to work and go home. Sometimes you can throw in something exciting like soccer practice or temple. The people I run into around here are on vacation and want nothing to do with me, unless I happen to be doing room service that night." Suddenly, he straightened, and he casually glanced around, but he didn't see anyone who proved to be an immediate danger.  
  
"Something the matter?" the woman asked. She sounded concerned.  
  
"Oh, just another Immortal," he answered casually.  
  
"Do you know him?" His wife hissed at him through slitted teeth.  
  
"No," Sam responded, "but I think I might know this Alex. He's from Missouri, if we know the same one."  
  
"Does that mean anything?"  
  
"No," Sam shook his head. He looked to his wife's face. She looked pale. "Are you ok, dearling? You look as of you've seen a ghost."  
  
"No, no, I'm fine. Just, do you ever get the feeling like you know someone, without knowing how or where you actually know them or know them from?"  
  
"General relativity and quantum mechanics sleep in the same bed, but never speak," Sam mumbled.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing. Just something about the possible eleventh dimension. It's called de ja vu," he smirked.  
  
"Well, I know that, Mr. I-minored-in-physics."  
  
"Cheeky," he teased, but he noticed the color had returned to her face, and he inwardly sighed. "What do you say we cut the James Bond act, and we pay a friendly Hawaiian neighborhood visit?"  
  
"Do I have a choice?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Lead the way, Mr. I-also-minored-in-philosophy." She grandly swept her arm forward, and Sam playfully swatted her.  
  
"Is Brandon in danger?" the strange woman asked. Sam jabbed his wife, and she nodded.  
  
"I suppose," the young man answered. "I mean, there's always the possibility that some whack job head hunter may pop out of the shadows."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Sure, you remember that power outage at your cousin's wedding?"  
  
"Mary Beth's?"  
  
"Yeah. That was from a Quickening. A head hunter picked a fight with me and I beat him."  
  
"Just like that?"  
  
"Just like that."  
  
"You may want to be careful of when and where you speak so casually, Mr... I'm sorry I didn't catch your name. Although, I did catch a few other names. Is Brandon also one of you? Or, perhaps, the better question is, is he a newbie?"  
  
Richie stared. "Who are you?" he asked carefully. But he knew the gentleman was not the Immortal. However, the young woman, who looked like she was no older than he was, still somewhat awkwardly tucked in his side, was. He casually looked her down, he knew from the way her black duster hung, that she carried a sword, but she didn't appear to be any immediate threat. After all, she looked to be fairly normal. Strawberry blonde hair pulled into two pigtails, blue eyes in an early tanned complexion, wore blue jeans and an orange tank top; her black on black saddle shoes had obviously seen better days.  
  
"Sam Clarke." He stuck his hand out, which Richie cautiously took. He didn't like something about this man's eyes. They were a cold steel grey, too much like ice or like iron to be assuring or welcoming. He wore a black trenchcoat over a black shirt and black dress pants, a perfect echo of his dark hair. Something in him looked to be more European and Asian. "And, you are?"  
  
"Uh, Rick Noel." He turned to the young girl tucked into Sam's side. "Visiting?"  
  
"No, we just recently moved here." She smiled, and her expression softened more. "I'm Asher Jacobs."  
  
"I'm Heather," the other woman spoke. "I'm visiting. Friend of... Rick's."  
  
Sam's lips curled into a slow smile. So, Rick Noel was not his real name. "So, do you live here, Mr. Noel?"  
  
"Yes, I'm a student."  
  
"I see. And this Brandon—"  
  
"Be quiet, Sam," his wife hissed. "You'll have to pardon my husband," she apologized to Richie and Heather. "He always get a little excited when he hears anyone discussing a common trade."  
  
"Common trade?" asked Heather.  
  
"We," Richie gestured to Asher, "belong to the same Club Immortal."  
  
"Seems we might have something in common," Sam interrupted again. "I couldn't help overhear you mention someone by the name of Alex. I don't suppose this would be the same Alex I know, would it? Graduate of Southern Missouri, captain of the basketball team there. I believe he would be a friend to you, wouldn't he, Rick? Or, should I say Richie Ryan?" he turned onto Heather, and an almost malicious glint gleamed in his cold eyes. "So, you must be his little sister? Small world, isn't it?"  
  
"Sam," Asher warned again.  
  
"How do you know Alex?" Richie asked warily.  
  
"Poker games, my good man. Surely you've witnessed, or seen one of our poker games. Really quite the show, if you ever get the chance to come. Your friends Joe and Adam often played. Really very good, even if Adam did tend to cheat."  
  
Richie's eyes narrowed. Even if he did know it to be true. Adam did cheat at cards, any card game. But there was something about this man that he didn't trust. It made him wonder what his wife saw in him. Yet, at the same time, there was something familiar about the girl, like he knew her from somewhere, and couldn't quite place her when or where. Meanwhile, the said girl sighed, and distanced herself from her husband.  
  
"It was nice meeting both of you. Good night," Asher farewelled, and she pushed Sam and the cart in the opposite direction.  
  
"She seemed nice," Heather commented.  
  
"Yes, she did. Makes me wonder why she ever married that bastard."  
  
"Richie!"  
  
"What? Sorry." Richie sighed. He began to sort through the varieties of apples. "I just... I feel like I know her somehow."  
  
"Who? Asher?"  
  
"Yes, like this feeling of de ja vu."  
  
"From Somo?"  
  
"No, did you hear her accent? She lived in Europe for several years, but you could hear a slight New York influence also. She's never lived in the South. Maybe visited, but never lived."  
  
"And you know that how, Mr. Genius?"  
  
"I spent a lot of time in Paris," Richie shrugged. "You don't think it's strange about thinking I know her?"  
  
"General relativity and quantum mechanics sleep in the same bed, but never speak," Heather mumbled.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Sorry. Brandon took physics in high school. Sometimes, weeks went by and he wouldn't shut up about it. I guess, it's just, there's this theory about parallel universes. That there are these thin curtain-like structures between the planes, and that's it just a matter of crossing that boundary to reach an alternate plane. And that those alternate planes can be similar or different to our planes."  
  
"So, what, you think that maybe on some other parallel or alternate universal plane, there's another Richie Ryan who really did meet and become involved with an Asher Jacobs?"  
  
"Maybe. Who knows? Maybe she even married you."  
  
"Very funny," Richie laughed. "Do you like red or green apples?"  
  
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But that leaves us with the question, if we have that possibility, do we really want to mess with it?  
  
Because de ja vu is never just de ja vu, and those wormholes have to be hidden somewhere close.  
  
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"Could you have been any less rude?" Asher seethed.  
  
"Look, he—"  
  
"You know, thanks to you, I didn't learn anything about him or—"  
  
"General relativity and quantum mechanics—"  
  
"I know. Sleep in the same bed, but never speak. I probably married him in that alternate universe of yours."  
  
"And what happened to me?"  
  
"Probably dead, or jailed, or both. I've said it before, Samuel Clarke. You are power-hungry, manipulative, bitter and revengeful. And the only reason, I married you is because you are my last stake on reformed adolescent rebellion."  
  
"What did you think your options were?"  
  
She snorted, and she grabbed a pineapple to toss into the cart. "Paris. I almost did run there you know."  
  
"Oh, I could see that now. What with the ship passage here, could you imagine it to Paris?"  
  
"Actually, yes."  
  
"Well, I'm not stopping you. Go."  
  
"It's too late, Sam."  
  
"What makes you so sure?"  
  
"Just trust me, it is."  
  
Sam sighed. "We have everything?"  
  
"We still need the chickens, and eggs."  
  
"You get the eggs, I'll grab the chicken."  
  
"Sam?"  
  
"I may not exactly be your prince charming, dearling, but you did marry me. Doesn't that count for something?"  
  
A smile broadened her face. "It counts for everything." 


End file.
